


happiness and i guess (all those things)

by gothyringwald



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: Percival and Credence escape the hectic New York life to spend a few days at Percival's cabin, at the end of the year.





	happiness and i guess (all those things)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morwrach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morwrach/gifts).



> Nettlekettle/morwrach and I realised we share a love of many of the same classic tropes so we decided to write a little something for each other. I hope this satisfies those classic trope cravings :)
> 
> I also [made an accompanying moodboard](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/168834802775/happiness-and-i-guess-all-those-things).

Icy air fills Credence's lungs as he and Percival land, his stomach taking moments to right itself after the dizzying apparation. Snow crunches under the thick soles of his winter boots, crisp and deep. He shivers, more out of habit than anything, because the heating charm he had cast before they left the city is still working, keeping him toasty warm.

He sighs, breath misting before him. It's beautiful out here. The trees are dusted with snow, dazzling in the sun that peeks through cracks in the grey clouds above. There is a lake, frozen over, glittering and vast, and Credence wonders if he can convince Percival to go ice-skating. They had tried, once, in the city but Percival was surprisingly clumsy on the skates and the third time he fell flat on his backside he gave up. But he had sat on a bench for another half hour, watched as Credence, feeling unusually carefree, skated over the ice.

Credence turns to the cabin, now. It's small, made from fat logs of redwood, windows dark and dusty. It looks cosy, if a little shabby. He likes it, already. When Credence had told Percival he'd never been outside of the city, Percival had suggested a trip to his cabin for a winter break. Get away from the hustle and bustle, he had said, just the two of them. Credence, eager for the chance to spend time alone with Percival, had said it sounded perfect. So, they packed their things, sending them ahead to the cabin, and set off for a week away from the city.

Beside him, Percival clears his throat. Credence blushes when he realises he is still holding onto his arm – he is not confident, yet, in apparating by himself – and steps away. Percival frowns but it quickly morphs into a small smile, which Credence returns, heart pitter-pattering.

'Shall we go inside?' says Percival, rubbing his hands together. Also out of habit, Credence thinks, because he'd cast a heating charm on himself, too, and is wearing thick mittens (crafted by Queenie), besides.

Credence nods and follows Percival into the cabin.

__

They eat dinner by candlelight in the open lounge and kitchen. The candles will help warm the room, Graves tells Credence as he lights them, but really he just loves the way the flickering light kisses Credence's features. How it softens the cut of his cheekbone, highlights the angle of his jaw, becomes lost in the inky waves of his hair. Graves's breath quickens, and warmth creeps up his throat, into his face. He looks away, but his heart still races. Nearby, a fire casts dancing shadows across the rug, up the legs of the small oak table where the two men sit.

Graves had made them a simple dinner of roast beef while Credence poured the red wine for which he has developed a taste (Graves remembers the first time Credence had tried some, nose screwed up in disgust. Adorable, was the word that had come to Graves's mind, then). The whole scene would feel domestic, _romantic_ , if Graves didn't know better. He can't imagine the feelings he has for Credence are returned, though the younger man seems to genuinely enjoy his company. The friendship they have forged over the past year strengths with each day. There is a deep bond between them, he knows, but it is not romantic, not on Credence's side, at least.

Graves sighs, earning a concerned look from Credence over the top of his glass, but he merely waves it off. He's an old fool, he knows, to pine like this, but that's just how Credence makes him feel. Bumbling and inelegant and _foolish_. 

Still, as Credence looks at him from the other side of the small table, the candles' flame reflected in his dark, feline eyes, Graves thinks he would gladly play the fool the rest of his life.

__

'There's only one bed,' Credence says, standing in the doorway of the sole bedroom, later that night. It's small, like the rest of the cabin, lace curtains at the window, a tall mahogany bureau in the corner and one large bed in the middle of the room.

'Ah,' says Percival, from behind him. He gently nudges Credence, who shuffles aside so Percival can get past. Percival stands at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips. 

'I'd forgotten about that.' He turns to Credence, mouth quirked in a small smile. 'There used to be two, but an old lover thought it would be fun to transfigure them into one. I'll see if I can undo his spell.'

Credence's heart twists at the casual mention of an old lover. He wonders how many Percival has had, how many people who aren't Credence have kissed him, held him, known him in ways Credence never will. Credence shakes his head. He has Percival's friendship, which he cherishes, deeply. If that's all he can ever have, it will be enough. He leans his weight against the jamb, long fingers curling over the rough wood.

Percival draws out his wand, aiming it at the bed, and mutters a spell. Nothing happens. He tries again. A pillow tears itself apart, feathers bursting into the air, like a little snowstorm. Credence smiles, watching the white tufts float gently to settle on the colourful blankets. Graves frowns and rubs the back of his neck.

He repairs the pillow and turns to Credence, sheepish. 'I'm not sure what he did, but the beds seem to be stuck together, permanently.'

'Oh,' says Credence.

Percival tucks his wand away. 'You take the bed, I'll manage something.'

Credence bites his lip, tilts his head. 'We can share. The bed's big enough.' His face heats at the thought but if Percival notices him blushing he, thankfully, doesn't mention it.

'If you're sure,' Percival says, slowly, not meeting Credence's eye.

'Yes. It'll be more comfortable.'

'OK,' says Percival, voice strange. 'You can have the bathroom first.' He turns away. 

Credence hesitates a moment, wants to ask Percival if everything is all right – maybe it was strange to say they could share the bed, maybe he's made Percival uncomfortable – but he turns and walks down the hall to the bathroom, flannel pyjamas slung over his arm. 

He's not sure how he's going to sleep at all, tonight, with Percival beside him and almost regrets his suggestion. He squeezes toothpaste onto his brush, and scrubs his teeth, one hand braced on the counter. The ceramic is cold beneath his warm palm, the tiled floor cold beneath his bare feet. It's going to be a long night, he thinks as he turns the tap to rinse his brush, and then makes his way back to the bedroom.

__

Graves lies on his back, acutely aware of Credence sleeping soundly beside him while he is completely, utterly awake. The bed feels so much smaller than Graves remembers it being. He shifts, can't get comfortable. Credence is turned on his side, away from Graves, but he may as well be pressed up against him for how keenly Graves feels his presence. He should have just gone and slept by the fire, in the armchair. Transfigured something into a bed, though the last time he did that he woke in the middle of the night after the bed had turned back into a stack of books, corners digging in to every tender spot he had. Not an experience he wishes to repeat.

He sighs. No, if he wants to sleep, then it will have to be in the bed with Credence. He suppresses a groan. This was meant to be a relaxing holiday escape for the both of them, but this is going to be torture. Beside him, Credence snuffles, making Graves's stomach flip. He huffs in irritation at himself. Credence deserves better than someone so world-weary, so broken, pining after him.

He chances a look over at Credence. Moonlight filters through the window, hitting Credence's back, illuminating the line of his shoulder, the hair curling at the nape of his neck, the blue pyjamas that Graves had bought him. Graves wants to press his thumb to the hollow at the base of his skull, run it along the back of his neck, trace the notches of his spine with his lips. 

But, instead, he takes several deep breaths, fists his hands under the blankets. They are thick and woolen and press down on him, almost suffocating. A musty scent clings to them though he had attacked them with a cleaning charm earlier. The pillows smell fresh, though. A small comfort. 

He sighs, again, and turns onto his side, away from Credence. The soles of their feet brush, sending a white hot jolt up his calves, along his thighs and into his groin. He buries his face in his pillow and grits his teeth. He is a grown man, he does not have to let the whims of his hormones and emotions control him. He takes a few deep breaths and almost believes himself until Credence shifts, closer now, and he can feel the heat from his back, their ankles brushing, sending more electric sparks along his skin. He scoots forward but there is nowhere to go except the floor, so he scoots back, again.

It's going to be a long night, he thinks and screws his eyes shut, tight.

__

There is a warm, heavy weight across Credence's waist when he wakes the next morning. He frowns, groggy, disoriented, eyes still half-closed. Soon, he realises the weight is an arm, holding him tight against the solid wall of warmth pressed along the length of his back. It's nice, he thinks, and feels sleep drawing him back in. But then he remembers the night before, the cabin, the one bed, and realises it's _Percival_ holding him. His eyes fly open, as he wakes fully, heat washing through him. It settles in his stomach, somewhere around where Percival's hand is splayed, a firm pressure through his pyjamas. It feels so intimate and Credence _burns_.

Percival must have rolled over during the night, and, asleep, not realised it was Credence there beside him. There's no other reason they'd wake up cuddling and Credence thinks how cruel it is to be granted what he's wanted for so long when it wasn't given freely. His throat feels tight and he turns his face into this pillow. 

He wonders if he can extricate himself without waking Percival – even though part of him wants to stay in Percival's arms, in this fantasy – but before he can figure out how, Percival shifts behind him. His arm slides across Credence, slowly, fingers catching on his waist before they move away. Credence's breath hitches, and he feels hot and tingly all over. 

He chances a look at Percival, who is on his back, now, arm flung across his eyes. 

'Good morning,' Credence blurts, even as he's thinking he could pretend to be asleep until Percival gets up.

Percival drops his arm and blinks at Credence. His eyes widen and he shifts away, clearing his throat. 

'Sorry, was I...' he trails off. Morning light, filtered through the lace curtains, hits the planes of his face. He even looks beautiful in the morning, Credence thinks miserably, unable to tear his gaze away. He frowns. Is Percival blushing?

'It's fine,' Credence murmurs, face heating. He hadn't really thought it through when he suggested sharing the bed. Going to sleep with someone else was one thing, but waking up with them was quite another, indeed.

Percival reaches out, not looking at Credence, fingers splayed on the mattress between them. For a moment, Credence thinks that maybe Percival will pull him back into that embrace, hold him again, but then he snatches his hand away, pulls it against his chest. Credence sags against his pillow.

The mattress dips, creaking as Percival sits up and swings his legs over the side. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back in place, and Credence mourns the loss of Percival's mussed morning hair. When Percival stretches his arms above his head, arching his back, his shirt rides up and Credence's mouth goes dry. He props himself on an elbow, watching as Percival stands, looking rumpled and soft in his silk pyjamas. Credence's heart aches. 

Percival turns back to the bed, regarding Credence with an inscrutable expression. They look at each other in silence, Percival standing by the bed, Credence lying awkwardly, until Percival says, 'I'll make some breakfast,' and rushes from the room.

Credence flops back with a sigh. He thinks of staying in bed a while longer, until his heart stops racing, and his brain catches up, at least. But when his stomach rumbles as the scent of frying eggs wafts in through the open door, he reluctantly gets up. He only hopes that filling his stomach will distract him from the gnawing hole in his heart.

__

It starts snowing in the morning, just after Graves and Credence eat breakfast, steadily growing heavier throughout the day. By mid afternoon it's clear that the snowfall won't ease and they may just be stuck in the cabin.

'Can't we use magic to clear it?' asks Credence, when Graves says as much. They are standing by the window, looking out upon the wall of white encasing the cabin. Their elbows brush as Credence raises his hand, presses it against the glass. It fogs around the heat of his palm. Graves wants to rest his own hand atop Credence's, thread their fingers together.

'You would think so,' says Graves, turning to Credence. 'But it's not possible, not yet, at least. No one knows why, but there isn't a spell that can clear snow safely.'

'Oh,' says Credence with a small frown. Graves wants to smooth it away but, just as he didn't touch Credence's hand, he quells this desire, too.

'Looks like we're stuck in here. I'm sorry. I know you wanted to go ice-skating.'

'It's OK. I'm sure we can still have fun inside.' Credence rests a hand on Graves's shoulder, cheeks pink.

Graves heats, even though Credence's words weren't particularly suggestive, nor was the gesture. But since they woke up together, Credence cradled in his arms, it's been more difficult than usual to ignore how much he _wants_ Credence. He swallows thickly and says, 'I'm sure we can.'

__

They spend the day bringing all the cheer to the cabin that they can, though Christmas is two weeks away, yet. Garlands of holly float from Percival's wand, stringing themselves along the mantel, fruits bright red, leaves green and glossy. Credence makes paper chains, levitating them to hang along the moulding, hiding the cobwebs there. A pinecone is transfigured into a little Christmas tree and, much to Credence's delight, Percival even transfigures some teacups into miniature snowmen when he says he wishes they could build one.

The snowmen sit atop the mantel, enchanted to not melt, watching over the two men as they sit by the fire, later, basking in its warmth. Percival, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, has a book in one hand, mug of cocoa in the other. He looks so at ease, so relaxed here, dressed in comfortable sweaters instead of his usual tailored suits. Credence longs to curl up beside him, rest his head on his shoulder, read with him, be by him always. 

Credence sighs, knowing it's unlikely to ever happen. He tries to content himself with this moment, these days they are sharing together in Percival's cabin, but the longing is still there.

Then, Percival smiles up at Credence, and Credence's heart feels like the marshmallows floating in Percival's cocoa.

__

The second morning, Graves wakes holding Credence tight against his chest, again. Credence's back is a long line of heat against his front, and it pools between his legs, a simmering arousal that is more pleasant than uncomfortable. He knows he should get out of bed before Credence wakes, but it feels too good to have Credence in his embrace. He decides to indulge, just a moment, and presses his face against the back of Credence's neck, inhaling deeply. His skin is sleep-warm and soft.

Credence shifts, pressing back against Graves and he has to fight a groan from escaping as the curve of his ass fits too well against his pelvis. Graves moves away, intending to slip out of bed like he had the previous morning, but before he can, Credence turns in his embrace. One of Percival's hands is still on Credence's waist and he wonders if he should move it, or if it might break the spell that seems to hang over them. In the end he moves it, lets it rest on the mattress between them.

Credence's eyes blink open and a small, sleepy smile spreads across his lips. 'Good morning,' he says, voice low.

'Good morning,' Graves repeats, glad that the roughness in his own voice can be explained away by having just woken up.

Credence shifts, tucks one arm under his head. He looks like he wants to say something but then he shakes his head. He reaches out and touches the back of Graves's hand with one finger. The touch sets Graves's nerves alight. Credence looks up from under his dark lashes and says, 'Could we roast some chestnuts today.'

Graves can only nod, swallowing thickly, heart somersaulting when Credence smiles at him, again, before promptly falling back to sleep.

__

Percival sets the chestnuts into a cast iron skillet, then levitates it above the flames of the fire. It bobs gently, but stays level, guided by Percival's wand.

'Roasting them the No-Maj way brings out the flavour more,' he says, throwing a smile at Credence over his shoulder. There is something almost impish about it, makes him look younger. It warms Credence more than any fire ever could.

A record spins on a phonograph on the opposite side of the room, a slow, sweet No-Maj song playing through the tinny speakers. It's one of Credence's favourites, a present from Percival for his birthday, earlier in the year. He's played it so many times since then, but never tires of it. He closes his eyes, basking in the familiar tune.

Percival settles beside Credence, the skillet still floating before them, flames crackling, chestnuts sizzling. Percival sits with his legs crossed, Credence with his knees tucked under his chin; both of them have blankets around their shoulders. It's easy to forget it's snowing outside, it's so cosy and warm. Credence could stay like this forever.

'I'm sorry you're stuck inside with me,' Percival says. There is an uncertainty in his voice that Credence hasn't heard before. He is looking into the fire, orange flames casting a warm glow on his handsome face. 

'I'm not,' Credence says. He places a hand over Percival's where it sits between them. He curls his fingers, lacing them through Percival's, thinks he hears the other man's breath catch, but it could just be one of the logs spitting in the grate.

Percival turns to him, then, eyes blazing stronger than the fire before them.

'Credence,' Percival starts and, for some reason, Credence wonders if Percival will kiss him. Is that what it means when Percival's gaze flicks to his mouth, tracks the involuntary movement of Credence's tongue? His heart hammers, his stomach wobbles and he feels tingly all over as he leans closer to Percival.

Percival leans closer, too, and Credence can feel his breath, can almost feels his lips and then... _Pop!_ A chestnut explodes. 

The two men jump apart, turning away from each other. The moment is broken and Credence's heart sinks.

__

Graves watches as Credence eats the chestnuts methodically, fingertips dusted with salt, red from the heat. He blows on them, licks them clean. Graves feels as scorched as the chestnuts Credence gorges himself on. He curls his hands over his knees – the ghost of Credence's fingers still tingling along his skin – and grits his teeth.

He wonders if he and Credence had nearly kissed before one of those blasted chestnuts, not scored properly, startled them. He's been party to many kisses in his life, and he is certain that what he had felt, leaning close to Credence, was the prelude to one. But everything about Credence unbalances Graves, unsettles his certainties, turning them into doubts.

The air between them has been charged with electricity since then, though. It crawls along his skin, palpable, spiking through his veins. If he had thought it was difficult to quell his desire, before, it is nearly impossible now. He catches Credence's eye, who smiles awkwardly, before glancing away, biting his lip.

Two glasses of wine sit near them, untouched. Graves had poured them after the chestnut had popped, needing something to do, the atmosphere between them unbearable. He picks his glass up, now, gaze trailing along the line of Credence's jaw, settling on his deep pink lips.

There really is only one way to find out if they had nearly kissed, Graves thinks, and gulps his wine.

__

One moment, Percival is sitting at least a foot away as they share the roasted chestnuts between them, the next he is leaning close, again, like before. This time Credence is certain that they are going to kiss. He's never been kissed before, never been close to it, really, but this must be it. He knows it, somehow, inexplicably, deep within him.

This time, he won't let anything interrupt them, and he surges forward, pressing his lips awkwardly against Percival's. It's brief, too brief, but it still makes his arms feel like jelly. He pulls away, before Percival has a chance to do anything more than blink back at him.

'Sorry,' Credence murmurs. 'Maybe I shouldn't have...' He shakes his head. What had he been thinking? He can't blame the wine, for his glass is still untouched.

'No,' says Percival and Credence looks up sharply, a sickening feeling in his stomach.

'I mean...I'm glad you did that.' Percival reaches out and cups his face, thumbs brushing gently over his cheekbones. Credence feels like he might swoon. 'Can we do it again?' 

Credence nods and Percival leans in. He smells like fire, like wine, and he kisses Credence, slowly, now. Credence's heart feels like it might explode. He turns so he can place his hands on Percival's waist, fist his hands into his soft sweater. Percival coaxes his lips open and his tongue slips into Credence's mouth. Credence makes a small, needy noise and Percival pulls him closer. He trails soft, wet kisses along Credence's jaw, his neck, before capturing his lips, again. 

Credence feels like he's drowning in warm maple syrup, clinging to Percival with all he has. When Percival moans into his mouth, it thrums in his blood, settles low in his belly.

For a while, it feels like the kiss will be endless – Credence wishes it could be – but, finally, they pull away, wearing mirrored expressions of disbelief and joy.

__

'Percival,' Credence says quietly, lips shining, cheeks stained pink. His eyes are half-closed and he's breathing heavily.

Graves runs his thumb along Credence's bottom lip. Credence opens his eyes fully, now. They are dark in the flickering light of the fire. Graves can't believe that he and Credence actually kissed. That _Credence kissed him_.

His heart is beating so hard against his ribs, and his blood sings in his veins. Credence's hand rests on his thigh, long fingers curling into his flesh. The hand shifts, a little further up, a questioning look in Credence's eyes. Graves answers it by resting his own hand atop Credence's, keeping it in place. Perhaps sharing the bed, tonight, may not be so torturous, he thinks just as Credence squeezes his fingers into the meat of his thigh. He opens his mouth and Graves stays silent, waiting for whatever Credence might say, heart still hammering.

Eventually Credence just says, 'Kiss me again,' and so Graves does.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr @gothyringwald :)](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) Happy holidays, everyone!
> 
> I handwaved the snow magic stuff for smooching purposes. :D
> 
> The song they are listening to is I Can't Give You Anything But Love by Cliff Edwards aka Ukulele Ike (or any song you want them to be listening to I guess but that's the one I had in mind). The title is also from that song.


End file.
